Anyone who knows me is aware that I have several
jobs at the moment and so finding the time to take a breath and think about
books and writing has fallen, sadly, to the bottom of my ‘must’ list.

So it was wonderful to be forced into it – in the
friendliest of ways – this weekend. Berwick Literary Festival in my home town
is in its third year and I’ve been lucky enough to be part of it since its
inception.

On Friday, I held a short story writing class. (I’ve
been chewing over the term ‘masterclass’. It feels like a male term to me.
Someone kindly told me that my masterclass ‘was indeed masterly’, which was a
lovely compliment, but it did feel as if I was being complimented in a male-ish
way, rather like being told I’m a good man. Am I wrong, anyone? And is there a
gender-neutral way of saying ‘masterclass’?)

Anyway, the short story ‘expert tutorial’ – for want
of a better phrase – attracted a very talented group of twelve aspiring writers,
who – I hope – all went home with a good head start on a new story and some
advice on how to structure and to complete it. Teaching writing is always an
inspiring thing to do.

We discussed why he was drawn to this tragic story
and the ethical considerations in using the reams of material collected after
Moat’s death. It’s a gripping read – even if we all know the end of the story –
and a deep insight into the mind of a man who’s just committed murder. If you
want to know what could drive someone to that, then this is the book that examines
it.

I went straight from there to hear Shelley Day in
conversation with former Tyne Tees political editor Gerry Foley, who has the
kind of resonant voice and Irish accent I could listen to all day. I knew a
little about Shelley’s novel, The
Confession of Stella Moon, in its making, but Gerry’s insightful questions
and the author’s open and generous answers were truly enriching.

It reminded me why festivals like this are so
important. As an author, connecting with readers is vital. As a reader, hearing
the processes and the creative practice behind the writing of a novel gives
extra depth and meaning to the act of reading.

I feel as if, for an afternoon, I stepped off the
treadmill and fed my brain. Remind me to do this more often, won’t you?

PSThanks to Shelley for sending me this pic of my books in the local bookstore window! Always nice to see!